


It's Not Goodbye

by Fatebegins



Series: Dreams [2]
Category: Spartacus: Vengeance
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Babies, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-19
Updated: 2012-11-19
Packaged: 2017-11-19 02:18:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/567943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fatebegins/pseuds/Fatebegins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agron is seriously injured in battle, Nasir struggles to cope with the prospect of raising their son alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not Goodbye

  
It is not their first parting yet Nasir is restless as he watches Agron bring supplies.  
  
“You will return unharmed.”  Nasir directs firmly when Agron meets his eyes.  
  
 At Nasir's words, Agron laughs, sheathing his sword with flourish. “As I always do.”  
  
“Do not be overly confidant, strike to kill, not for sport.” This is no small battle, the Romans are closing in on them and Nasir has seen Agron when bloodlust overcomes him, he loses himself in gore rather than strategy. “Do not linger over your opponent,  a clean sweep and be off.”  
  
“Are you now my Dominus?” Agron presses a kiss to his forehead, hand touching his cheek affectionately. “I recall how to wage battle,  put your fears behind you.”  
  
“Listen to my words.”  
  
“Such commands from a little man.”  
  
Nasir grins, shoving Agron away only to bring him close seconds later in a warm embrace. “I am your master in every way.”  
  
“Would that I could dispute your words.” Large hands move to span Nasir’s large belly. “I suppose he will not heed my command to remain within you until I return?”  
  
Nasir thinks of the frequent back aches, the sharp twinges of pain just that morning. “I suppose not.”  
  
“Then I leave you to your own battle with heavy heart.” It has weighed heavily upon Agron that he will not see the birth of his child.  
  
“The cause requires you to go, and when you return you will find me waiting,”  He waits a beat. “Your daughter alongside me.”  
  
“My _son_ alongside you.” Agron growls but his contradiction is jest.  Neither care the sex of the child, both merely wish for good health. The conditions of their camp cannot support a sickly babe.  
  
“We shall see.” Nasir tips his face up, accepts the kiss of his lover as the clang of swords fill the open space.  From his vantage point Nasir can see Crixus and Naevia saying their farewells.  
  
Overwhelming sadness fills him and impulse overtakes.  
  
“Come.” Nasir takes Agron’s hand in his own, leading him towards the enclosed hall and into the semi dark wine cellar.  
  
“What is this?” When Nasir pushes him back, Agron complies. “Would you spirit me away?”  
  
“I would show you how much I will miss your presence.” Nasir smiles slowly against Agron’s mouth when his man makes a sound of approval, hand moving low on his back. Nasir slips out from beneath him, getting to his knees.  
  
“We do not have much time.” Hands at war with his words, Agron aids Nasir in unlacing his garment, proving already to be half hard.  
  
“Then I shall not linger.”  In one smooth movement, Nasir takes Agron’s cock deep into his mouth, controlling his breathing as he feels the push against his throat. 

Above him, Agron moans, closes his eyes as his head thuds back against the wall. In minutes the older man is coming and Nasir is being lifted to his feet, Agron’s hands finding him sated without his touch.  
  
“You are remarkable.” Agron palms his half hard dick anyway, fingers smoothing over the slick. “When I return I shall satisfy you properly.”  
  
“I will hold you to that vow.”  
  
***  
  
With Agron and all of the able bodied, fighting men absent, Nasir is left to his own devices.  Life is mundane, gathering food, hunting and keeping surveillance.    
  
Naevia attempts to teach him how to sew garments for the child but Nasir loses interest quickly, abandoning those pursuits in favor of the bow. As time is all he has, Nasir uses it to hone his accuracy; within a week his aim is deadly.  
  
“You will clothe your child with bow and arrow?” Naevia grows weary at his disinterest.  
  
“The garments you spin are far superior to anything of mine.” Head bent, Nasir continues to string his arrows. “I shall keep the child clothed in what comes from your hand.”  
  
“It is a blessing that you find yourself so.” She reaches for the bow and Nasir allows her to take charge of it, seeking rest on a rotted tree stump.  
  
The child inside him kicks like a gladiator, each movement well aimed and placed.  Wincing, Nasir touched his stomach, rubs to soothe whatever has disrupted the babe. He looks up to find Naevia’s eyes upon him, soft and open.  
  
“Crixus has looked upon Agron with envy as of late.”  
  
“Crixus would do well to find _himself_ with child.”  
  
Naevia laughs, head thrown back in merriment. “For the time being he shall have to play father to your child.”  
  
***  
  
“Men approach!” The watchmen sound the horns and Nasir feels his heart leap in joy. “Led by Spartacus.”  
  
It has been nearly a month, a month of waiting without word,  in hiding.  
  
Much has changed during that time. Two weeks after Agron rode away, Nasir had fallen into labor. With only Naevia and an elderly woman Jana by his side, he’d brought their son into the world.  
  
“Little Agron” as Naevia teases,  is a child without concern. He does naught but sleep, content to be curled in warm arms swaddled in soft linen. Nasir has yet to name the infant, awaiting Argon’s return.  
  
“Bring my child.” Nasir yells to Jana as he hurries outdoors.  He is bursting with the news of his son, wants to watch Agron’s face as he sees his child for the first time. His cocksure rebel will grow more arrogant still when he sees his prediction has come to fruition.  
  
“Many are missing.” Benignus declares and the rejoicing dims.  
  
“And Agron?”  
  
The man does not answer and Nasir feels his heart splinter within.  
  
***  
  
The gates open and  Nasir braces himself, vows to stand firm.  
  
Covered in mud and dirt, Spartacus moves forward first, Crixus on his other side.  Between them, head hung low and feet dragging through earth, is Agron.  Each man has grasped one  of Agron’s arms, carried him a  fair distance if the strain evident in their gait is indicator.  
  
Several others still are missing, Nasir doesn’t see many men but their deaths do not sway him from his purpose.  
  
With a calm Nasir doesn’t feel, he speaks.  “Agron?”  
  
“He is very weak,” Spartacus answers as the holding erupts into activity around them. “We had no choice but to chose retreat.”  
  
A sound leaves Nasir’s lips, one low and filled with pain as he touches Agron’s ashen cheek. There is no life in him, no response.  
  
“But the stubborn child is still with us, is fighting still.” Crixus’ voice is hoarse with emotion. “I would have been for  afterlife had he not intervened. That proved to be sufficient distraction for the coward to strike.”  
  
“He saved you.” Nasir whispers.  At cost to himself.  
  
“I am in his debt.”  
  
Agron’s appearance is horrific, the wound even more so once they lift him unto the table. All through out their ministrations Agron has not stirred. At the sight of his injury Nasir feels hope slip away. Even branded with fire as Nasir once was, it still bleeds, scarlet tinged water running down his side.  
  
“He will not die.” Spartacus says behind him as Naevia takes charge.  
  
There has never been such desperation in the man’s voice; it proves no comfort to Nasir.  
  
***  
  
It has been nearly three days, and Agron does not stir.  
  
Nasir would give all to see his lover’s eyes once more, to have his strong arms around him.  
  
They live a life of war, of rebellion , he had been fool to believe their love would end otherwise.  And yet somehow, in the midst of Agron’s robust laughter and his teasing smiles, Nasir had been swayed to dream of  other things; of happiness and peace.  Worse still, he has given birth to a child in a time of war.  He understands now why  Agron’s eyes would dim with regret at times.  
  
“Agron’s child is a sight to behold. He resembles you in every way.”  
  
At Spartacus’ voice Nasir tenses but does not turn from his vigil. He has been at Agron’s bedside since his return, will remain there.  
  
“When Agron sets eyes upon him he will be filled with great joy.”  
  
“I have imagined that moment many times.” Nasir looks down at Agron‘s face.  “What do you suppose his thoughts will be?”  
  
The smile Spartacus gives is muddied by the sadness in his eyes. “That you have given birth to a fucking Syrian.”  
  
***  
  
On the fourth day Agron wakes, too weak to speak. The pain is evident on his face and Nasir wishes he could take some of the hurt for him. Naevia manages to feed him some thin broth and barley water, which he soon vomits. The crush of herbs, selected to ease his suffering stay down,  and Nasir offers a prayer of thanks to the Gods for that blessing.  
  
Even mute, Agron tries to console him, fingers squeezing weakly in attempt to soothe.  
  
“You gave promise to return.” Nasir brings their joined hands to his mouth, presses a kiss to the back of Agron’s bruised knuckles. “And you have, do not leave now.”  
  
His response; Agron’s eyes slip closed, and once more he returns to the place where he can no longer wake.  
  
**  
  
Without words, all have given up hope.  
  
A week of silence and they all await his passing to mourn him properly.  
  
To give up faith is the hardest task, and yet Nasir must undertake it.  
  
On the end of the seventh day, Nasir brings the child to the sick chamber.  His son is lost in dreams, dark lashes resting upon the rose bloom of his cheeks. Unlike the others, Nasir thinks he favors Agron, the slope of his nose and the shape of his eyes. There is no doubt that he will grow into a fine warrior, like his father.  
  
As if privy to Nasir’s thoughts, the infant stirs, dark eyes blinking awake.  
  
Nasir places the child on Agron’s fever flushed chest, carefully avoiding the open wound. Their son is too young to move, merely returns to slumber, cheek pressed over his father’s weakly beating heart.  
  
“I would have you remain for him.” Never have tears been so hard to contain. “Already, he proves to have your countenance, stubborn and proud.”  
  
It is with great shock that Nasir sees Agron’s eyes flutter.  
  
“Agron?” Anxious, Nasir leans over his prone body. How often had Agron asked to ‘greet his son properly‘ throughout the nights, hand always seeking Nasir‘s stomach to touch. There is a sting behind Nasir‘s eyes, his voice shaking as he speaks. “You may greet him properly now.”  
  
Slowly, Agron’s hand lifts, but he proves far too weak and it falls back to the pallet. Nasir wraps his fingers around Agron’s wrist, gently bringing it to their child’s back and holding it there.  
  
“Feel,” Nasir instructs. “He is strong, like his father.”  
  
Fever bright eyes open to a slit and for a moment Nasir catches glimpse of the Agron he knows, the man he loves. The teasing one who would play upon his hair and squeeze him far too tightly in embrace.  
  
_My Son._  
  
Nasir hears the words even when Agron’s fever chapped lips do not make a sound.  
  
There has been no pain as great as this, Nasir breaks even as Agron‘s eyes slide closed.

“I would have him know you.”  
  
The shadows lengthen around them, and Nasir has no idea how long he has remained as such, huddled next to Agron’s body.  
  
“Nasir,” Mira enters the chamber, Naevia behind him.  “The babe seeks sustenance.”  
  
It is then he realizes, the child is crying.  
  
***  
  
“You go,” Lugo declares as soon as he sets eyes upon Nasir.  “I watch.”  
  
Nasir does not respond to the words, keeps his back turned as sits down. He looks at the dark forest below. He is still struggling to catch breath, struggling to accept the blow fate has dealt.  
  
There are voices below, a disruption.  Nasir doesn’t want to inquire.  It can only accompany one of two events.  
  
“Nasir!”  
  
At Crixus’ voice, both Nasir and Lugo turn.  
  
“Agron wakes fully.” Crixus shouts, before a smile breaks. “Naevia has given him water, and he has kept it down. The fever has broken and he speaks few words.”  
  
That catches Nasir’s attentions and he scrambles down from the wall to inquire. “His fever has broken?”  
  
“Go.” Crixus grabs him up into a bear hug, clapping Nasir on the back and sending him on his way with a push. “He asks for you.”  
  
***  
  
The moment Nasir enters the chamber his eyes seek out Agron’s. To his shock, they are completely open, free of fever and full of clarity.  
  
As Agron lay ill, Nasir had thought of all the words he wished he could say. Now when he has opportunity, his tongue fails him. Agron is flanked by Spartacus, Oenomaus  and Mira. Naevia is by his side, flagon held to his lips.  
  
“Hello.” Agron greets, voice hoarse but clear.  
  
Nasir finds movement once more, coming to his side with a soft cry of relief. “You have returned.”  
  
“Of course.” Agron smiles weakly, fingers tangling in his hair. “I was commanded to.”  
  
***  
  
It takes several days before Agron is well enough to speak at length and when he does, he chooses to hold audience and recount the battle which led him to death’s door. Nasir gathers with all others to hear the tale, but he despises it. He will never understand the pleasure Agron finds in it. The evenings are what Nasir  prefers, when all others seek the campfire and he is left alone to tend to Agron.    
  
After Nasir dresses Agron’s wound,  he climbs unto the pallet with him, the baby carefully laid between them.  
  
“You never refer to the child by name.” Agron says as Nasir settles down next to him and offers water.  
  
“He does not have one.” Nasir watches as Agron strokes the child’s cheek.  
  
Agron touches the wavy black hair curling over the infant ears. “He has taken after you completely.”  
  
Nasir smiles. “Spartacus says he is a Syrian.”  
  
“He is fucking right.” Agron returns the gesture and at the sight of his dimples Nasir can finally give in to relaxation.  “Have you thought of it?”  
  
“A name?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
It has been upon Nasir’s thoughts to name the child after the family he can rarely remember clearly. Yet he knows of Agron’s own brother, and can not help but feel guilty at his own inclinations.  “My brother, he was called Adnan…I would like to call the child after him, unless-”  
  
“It is a strong name.”  
  
In the still of the night, as is his custom, little Adnan begins to cry.  
  
“He will not let you rest.” Nasir offers in explanation before he attempts to leave. Agron stops him, hand going to Nasir’s wrist in a firm grip.  
  
“It is a warrior’s cry.” Agron lifts the screaming child up and out of Nasir‘s hands, pride in his eyes. “There is no sweeter sound.”  
  
It is a sight Nasir  had not expected to be able to see, one that moves him greatly.  
  
***  
  
The next morning, Nasir wakes to find only Adnan next to him. Surprise fills him and he looks about to find the room empty.  Quickly, Nasir gathers the baby and heads outdoors.  At the steps, Agron stands, leaning heavily against a wooden beam but standing nonetheless.  
  
“And he awakens.” Agron teases, hand up in greeting. The moment Nasir goes to him he holds him to his side, speaks to those who watch.  “Come all, meet my son  properly.”  
  
“And his name?” Mira inquires, as she looks towards the child wistfully.  
  
“Adnan.” Agron tells them, voice filled with pride. “If the battle against the Romans wages until our death, he will continue our cause!”  
  
The cheers given in response are deafening.


End file.
